


The Cocksucking King of Kentucky

by cjmarlowe



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M, casefic, it's been so long i've forgotten how to tag things well, tim gets around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim had all kinds of bear traps and hornet's nests in the territory he put up around himself, not to mention land mines and razorwire, but not about this. Just because he was smart enough to be quiet about being a gay Marshal in Kentucky didn't mean he had issues. But when a new case brings it to the forefront—for some people, anyway, mostly being Raylan Givens—suddenly said people are making it their business to get involved in Tim's life, and that's not something he's at all comfortable with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cocksucking King of Kentucky

**Author's Note:**

> First draft mostly written about a year and half ago, before season six and most of season five had aired, so this takes place some time after season four or into early season five, roughly speaking. Wherever it works.

"You ever make time with someone who _didn't_ turn out to be trouble?" said Tim, putting his feet up on the desk and crossing his arms.

"Make time?"

"You know what I'm talking about." It probably didn't need to be said, but then so much of what came out of Tim's mouth didn't need to be said especially. The world was just a finer place when it was.

"This one's not on me," said Raylan. And true enough, Emma Rawlings had been trouble all on her own before Raylan ever laid eyes on her, but Raylan still didn't have the good sense not to sleep with her even knowing what he knew.

Wasn't the first time a woman Raylan Givens slept with ended up in custody. Wouldn't be the last.

"Didn't say it was on you," said Tim. "Just thinking we should just start following you around. Every time you get mixed up with someone, we can count on them being in the middle of the next shitstorm. Save us a lot of time and resources."

"You're starting to sound like Art," said Raylan.

"Don't make me wrong."

"No," said Raylan. "No, it doesn't. Let me save you some trouble and just start leaving their addresses and known contacts on your desk."

"I'd appreciate that," said Tim. "It's not that I'm lazy, you understand."

"Course not."

"I'm just scared of seeing your pale ass stretched out on a bed one day when I'm running 'em down. It's a miracle I've gone this long already."

"You've seen worse than my pale ass," said Raylan, "but speaking of someone being stretched out horizontal, I believe I'm late for an engagement."

"I'm not sure whether that means you're going to sleep with someone, or shoot them."

"It's not always clear till I get there," said Raylan, standing up and fixing his hat. "See you tomorrow, Deputy."

Art appeared in his office door shortly after Raylan disappeared, almost like he planned it that way. "Get out of here, Gutterson," he said. Tim was just getting comfortable, but he planted his shoes on the floor again anyway and stood up on command. "I don't want to see any of your faces before morning."

"I'd say you won't see me till eight a.m.," said Tim, "but Raylan didn't promise he wasn't going to shoot anybody tonight."

"He never does," said Art, and sighed and shut off his office light.

Unlike Raylan, Tim had no plans to see anyone horizontal that night, or in any other position, and he definitely wasn't giving another moment's thought to Raylan's ass, pale or otherwise. He picked up a bottle of bourbon on the way home, cooked himself some macaroni and cheese in a skillet just the way his aunt used to, and settled into Prydain. He didn't need the comfort food especially, but evenings called for something hearty to soak up the liquor before morning. The liquor was to get some sleep in the first place.

*

"Any of you ever heard of Clarence Boyle?" said Art, cup of coffee in one hand and open file folder in the other.

Tim'd spend the morning bringing in a bail jumper from Richmond, some dumbass who went straight to his (well fed up and dial happy) mother's house, and he wasn't keen on taking off after another one but it beat sitting around on the phone.

"Can't say as I have," said Raylan. "Should I?"

"No, probably not," said Art. "Him and his brother Holden escaped from custody in Knoxville last night. Pissant drug mules but they were _supposed_ to be giving up information on their bosses up the line. Last intel says they're probably heading up our way."

"Any particular reason?"

"Clarence's girl's dancing at Mystic these days."

"For a certain definition of dancing," said Tim.

"Hey now, Mystic is a fine establishment," said Raylan. "No need casting aspersions."

"Yeah, those girls work real hard on those poles," said Rachel. "We should have some respect." Raylan might've had a certain opinion about the girls at Mystic, but Tim was pretty sure Rachel was dead sincere.

"Exactly," said Raylan, tipping his hat at her.

"Well, this seems like a pretty straight line," interrupted Tim. "Too early to go over there?"

"Not in the slightest," said Raylan. Of course he knew that. The place was probably programmed into his GPS.

"So are you up for it?" asked Art.

That struck Tim as a particularly poor choice of words. Unless it was intentional, in which case Art was a lot dirtier than Tim ever gave him credit for and that sort of behavior ought to be encouraged.

"You're sending Raylan Givens to a strip club?" said Rachel.

"I'm not entirely sure I _send_ Raylan anywhere," said Art. "But if you'd rather go in his place—"

"I'm good," said Rachel, "but thanks for asking."

"Take Gutterson with you," said Art. Tim had already been reaching for his coat.

"Don't worry, sir," said Tim. "I'll make sure he comes back out again."

"I do not know what I've ever done to earn this kind of suspicion," said Raylan. From the chagrined look on his face, even he wasn't buying that. "If you'll kindly hand over the information to Deputy Gutterson, we'll be on our way."

Tim took the file and read it extremely thoroughly while trying to look like he was idly scanning the photos. Art wasn't wrong about the fugitives. Just a couple of nothing brothers who rose just high enough in the organization to hold more information than their lives were worth. They'd be lucky if Raylan and Tim found them first, and that was the sad truth.

"I'm driving."

"The hell you are," said Raylan, which was fine because Tim didn't want to drive anyway, it just didn't look right if he didn't put up a fight.

"Don't know why you're looking so happy."

"Don't know why you aren't."

"It's been my experience," said Tim, choosing his words very carefully even while giving them a careless cadence, "that the women working a place like Mystic at this time of day aren't of the sort that a fellow gets especially excited about."

"You don't know them," said Raylan. "You don't know their lives."

"Fair point," said Tim, "but don't that make it even less something you ought to be smiling about?"

"Sometimes," said Raylan, his words surely as carefully chosen as Tim's, "it's nice to have a case that doesn't lead straight back to Harlan."

"Give it time," said Tim. "We've barely gotten started yet."

*

Mystic was busier than it ought to be, and Tim looked at his watch just to make sure they hadn't lost an hour or five on the drive over. But no, it was the time of day when most sensible people would be around the dinner table. Sensible people just weren't the kind that came to Mystic.

That didn't mean it was so busy they couldn't slip in virtually unnoticed, flashing the hostess at the door a smile instead of a badge, which was the benefit of early evening strip club crowds, Tim supposed. They didn't want to shut the place down. The less Clarence and Holden knew about their presence, the less likely they were to bolt before they got a line on their location.

He didn't see them among the tables, and Tim's sight was pretty sharp even in the dim light of the club, but then they weren't expecting to. Not out in the open, and not among the casual patrons.

"Excuse me," said Raylan, putting his fingers to the brim of his hat as he greeted the waitress. "Can you tell me where I can find Amber Dawn?"

"I cannot," she said, with a cheeky little smile. "But I can offer you boys a drink while she gets ready to go on."

"Well here's the thing," said Raylan. "We're Deputy U.S. Marshals, Miss..."

"Gemini," she said. "Can I see your badge, Mr. Deputy U.S. Marshal?"

"Deputy Givens is always ready to flash a pretty girl," said Tim, clapping him on the shoulder. He had his own identification at the ready, but she wasn't asking him.

Raylan smiled at her and flipped his jacket open to show his badge. "Will this do?"

"Nicely," she said, only after taking a good, long look at it. Tim wondered how many fake IDs of various sorts she saw in the average day. "Amber's just getting her face on, do you want me to send someone to fetch her?"

"Thank you, I think Deputy Gutterson and myself can handle that just fine," said Raylan. "As long as he doesn't get distracted along the way."

"I'm not the one we need to be worried about," he said. No matter how much female flesh was jiggling—or not jigging, as the case may be—in his general direction, it was not his particular area of interest, as it happened.

"I promise to wait till after we close the case," said Raylan, tipping his hat at a young lady in chain mail underwear. Well, it took all types. "Ma'am, can you point me in the direction of Amber Dawn?"

She looked him up and down, then pointed at the second door on the left, which, when opened, showed a lengthy mirror with a half dozen women sitting in front of or near it.

"Amber?"

They all seemed rather unsurprised to be interrupted by a couple of strange men, though one of the women got up to both greet them and partially block the door.

"What can I do for you fine gentlemen?"

"You're Amber Dawn?"

"No, honey, I'm Sunshine," she said. There was the sound of a door slamming in the background. "I think you just missed Amber. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Damn it," said Raylan, taking off the other way round towards the sound while Tim knew enough to stay put in the likely event she doubled back in his direction. Raylan didn't need backup in the dressing rooms of a strip club. Tim wasn't even sure he'd welcome it.

"U.S. Marshal Service, ma'am," he said.

"You wouldn't have made it this far that quietly if you hadn't flashed someone a badge or a lot of cash somewhere along the way. You're looking for Clarence Boyle, am I right?"

It was nice to know they'd come to the right place.

"Is he here?"

"He was," said Sunshine, "that grabby bastard."

"I take it you weren't a fan."

"Oh, he had his charms, but he wasn't much my type," said Sunshine. "I like them with more hair and fewer felonies."

"You are a wise woman, Miss Sunshine," said Tim.

There were a couple more door slams, more distant and around at least one corner so Tim couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary from where he stood. Still, he had a keen eye on all of his surroundings, and in all directions. When Raylan returned a few moments later, he didn't have anybody in tow.

"Missed him," said Raylan, scuffing his boot in disgust. "Straight out the back door and into a waiting vehicle like he'd been tipped off. Dark four-door sedan, couldn't see the plates. Damn it."

"Just him?"

"Him and what I presume was Amber," said Raylan. "Red hair, bout this long, bit of a spitfire?"

Sunshine nodded at him. "Yeah, that's Amber. Looks like I'll be moved up the schedule tonight."

"You know where they might be headed?" said Raylan. "Wherever they were going, they're doing it in a hurry."

"I don't even know Amber's address," she admitted, "but then, that's probably the last place they'd go, right? On the TV shows, that's the last place they'd go."

"Depends on how smart they are," said Raylan. The Marshals already had someone watching her house and they'd be picked up in no time if that's where they were headed, but Tim knew Raylan was still kicking himself over it.

Tim turned back to Sunshine. "Where's the other one, then? Where's Holden?"

"Holden?" said Sunshine.

"Clarence's brother? Looks pretty much exactly like him but without that scar to pretty him up?"

"Oh, you're looking in the wrong place for him, honey," she said.

"Don't suppose you'd care to point me to the right one," said Raylan. "I'd be obliged."

"Holden's not much interested in what we have to offer here, if you know what I'm saying." Tim certainly did, even if Raylan didn't. 

"I believe I get your meaning," said Raylan, though. 

"He left to find something more to his taste. That's all I know."

"Thank you for your cooperation."

"Any time, sugar," she said. "And if you find your way back here later tonight...."

"I will surely not forget your name, Sunshine," said Raylan. It was amazing how completely sincere he sounded.

They made their way back out the same way they came. From the look of the room, no one had a hot clue what had been going on behind the scenes this whole time, eyes still riveted to the stage and to the circulating waitresses who were wearing nearly as little as the entertainment.

"He'll be going to the Bar," said Tim as they headed back to Raylan's car. "But not till later."

"You want to be a little more specific?"

"How?" said Tim. "It's just the Bar. Don't blame me. I didn't name it."

"How do you know he'll be there?"

"You gonna question my knowledge of drinking establishments within a five block radius of HQ?" Raylan just waited. Tim could probably have outwaited him, but that was just a lot of time wasted. "It's got a show. Clarence clearly likes his shows, or at least his showgirls. Figured, they're brothers, maybe Holden likes a good show too."

"Fair enough," said Raylan. "It's a place to start."

"Show's not till ten, ten-thirty. Assuming he wasn't tipped off to our visit to Mystic, we should be able to pick him up right out of the crowd. If he's there."

"Could be his brother's on the phone to him right now."

"Could be he thinks the safest place to be is someplace Clarence wouldn't."

"So what you're saying is we've got some time to kill."

"I'm saying we should make a couple of calls then go find the bottle in Art's desk and kick up our feet till the time is right so we don't tip our hand."

"I knew I liked you for a reason."

"You _don't_ like me, particularly," said Tim, but he was smirking as he got into the car all the same.

*

The stealth operation into Art's office was marginally more successful than the one at Mystic. But only marginally.

"Do I even want to know what the two of you are doing in here?" said Art, flipping on the light in the midst of their infiltration.

Raylan turned around and smiled, because that was how he looked in the face of confrontation. "Figured you'd gone home for the night, Art."

"Which seemed to you an open invitation to burgle my office?"

Tim stood up from behind the desk. "Just looking for this," he said, holding up the bottle—the everyday bottle, not the good stuff—and saving Raylan's bacon. He hoped he wouldn't forget it.

"Because this whole city's sold out of liquor?" said Art, stepping into the office and pulling the bottle out of his hand. "I thought I told you to keep him _out_ of trouble, Gutterson."

"To be honest," said Raylan, "it seemed like a good idea at the time. We're sort of between arrests right now, keeping our heads down."

Art looked at him, then at Tim, then got three glasses out. "All right, catch me up," he said. "And next time get your own damn bottle. Better yet, go _home_."

"We've got—" Tim looked at his watch. "—oh, a good couple hours before me and Raylan figure we'll hit the drag show at the Gilded Cage."

"Come again?"

"Well, it's been long day," said Raylan with a shrug, examining his glass before taking a sip. "We've earned ourselves some downtime."

"At a drag show."

"Do I judge what you do for entertainment?"

"You would if I ever told you anything," said Art. "What's going down at the drag show?"

"Don't you mean _who's_ go—"

"Raylan."

"We got a tip Holden Boyle is going to be there later," supplied Tim, ending the game before it went someplace he was even more uncomfortable with. "It's just a few blocks over."

"I think I'm getting the picture," said Art, holding a hand up. "And Clarence?"

Raylan and Tim looked at one another, and Tim just waited for Raylan to talk. He always did, eventually. "He was there, but we missed him," he admitted finally. "We'll get him, though."

"You lost him?"

"We missed him," said Raylan. It was a subtle distinction, but he'd never actually laid hands on him so it wasn't a _loss_ , as such. "But we were right about him showing up."

"So when you said you were _between_ arrests...."

"I picked someone up just this morning," said Tim. "That makes _me_ between arrests. I don't know what Raylan's talking about, though. He just sat on his ass and drank bad coffee this morning."

"Don't forget came in late," said Raylan, sipping his drink. Tim was going to pay for that one down the line. "We have some statements we can sift through in the morning, run down a few things. If nothing more pressing comes up."

"I'd like to say that nothing more pressing than this is going to come up, but I look at who I'm talking to and I know that's not true."

"So dare I ask what you're doing in so late?" said Raylan.

"Forgot some papers I meant to bring home with me and thought I might as well pick them up while I was thinking about it. The wife's out of town for a few days and I was feeling a little restless. Or maybe that itch in my brain that tells me when Raylan Givens is making trouble told me to come by."

"That's one hell of an itchy brain," said Tim.

"I thought the wife being out of town meant watching the game in your underpants with your feet up on the coffee table and setting your beer down without a coaster."

"Your high opinion of my home life is inspiring, Raylan."

"Well, you're welcome to come take in the show with us, then," he said. "The more the merrier."

"Maybe I'll do that," said Art. "I think you just might _be_ the show tonight, though."

Tim thought he was joking at first, then it became increasingly clear the man was dead serious. About joining them, anyway, if not about the potential entertainment value of the endeavor. 

It wasn't that either one of them was saying or doing anything to make Tim uncomfortable, particularly, but he kept waiting for it, the queer joke that was lurking somewhere under the surface. If it didn't come now, sometime in the next couple of drinks it likely would. No matter how open-minded the two of them thought they were, it was still the Marshal service, and it was still Kentucky.

"I'm driving," said Art when the time came, snatching his keys off his desk like someone else might take them. Which was probably a good idea because by that point Raylan was a couple of drinks ahead of him and that was likely why Art never broke out the good bourbon when they were around.

They parked in the lot just across the street from the bar, long since packed and only by the grace of god was someone pulling out when they were pulling in.

"So how are we going to do this?" said Raylan, leaning against the hood of the vehicle and staring at the front door. "I have to say, this is not really my area of expertise."

"You've never let that stop you before," said Tim.

"I think you'll need to lose the hat," said Art. "And...oh, hell, I don't know. Just march in and do what you do."

"If I just march in there I'm gonna spook him," said Raylan. "I need to figure out the angles here." Marching in was Raylan's modus operandi. Tim wasn't sure he _knew_ another angle.

"That's why you're doing this one and I'm not," said Art. 

Tim could see this conversation going on for a lot longer than necessary, to decreasing comfort and increasing innuendo. Better to just get it done.

"If you two pansies can't just man up and do this, then get out of my way," he said.

"I believe you may be using that term incorrectly," said Art. 

"Now hold on, I never said I wouldn't do it," said Raylan. "I just said it wasn't my particular area of expertise. Maybe I ought to give it a try, solve all those woman problems."

"You're not inspiring confidence," said Tim. "Just sit your ass down and don't come after me unless you hear a ruckus."

"What makes you think you'll have any better luck?"

"I'm younger and prettier than you are," said Tim, and headed on in before anyone could put up any more bullshit arguments. Yeah, Raylan would've done it in the end, but he wasn't the man for the job. Not this time.

Tim wasn't inside more than three minutes before someone was sidling up to him, leaning across the bar a little further than necessary to position himself in Tim's line of vision. "Buy you a drink?"

"Bourbon," he said, and then turned to look. It wasn't their fugitive, nobody was that lucky, but chatting up someone at the bar was going to make Tim stand out a whole lot less, while still giving him a chance to keep a roving eye on the place. The guy was a little taller than Tim, broad at the shoulders with a great smile, and truth be told Tim would probably have let himself get picked up by him were he in here under other circumstances. He wasn't sure if it was lucky or unlucky that the guy looked like just his type. He offered his hand. "Tim."

It was always a good sign when the guy shook his hand rather than looking at it in confusion. "Scott," he said. "Don't believe I've seen you in here before."

Raylan always got the eye candy on their cases. A god damn _strip club_. It was about time Tim got a little action out of it.

"Well, it's a step up from 'what's a boy like you doing in a place like this?'," said Tim, which was all he got out before his drink was served. He took a healthy sip of it while still looking at Scott.

"If that's your way of telling me I'm not smooth, I already know that," he said. "Most days I've had it up to here with smooth."

"At least you started with the drink," said Tim, raising the glass in appreciation. "That's always a good move. Next you should ask me something that doesn't imply you were waiting in some dark corner for a new face to show up before pouncing. Maybe 'what do you do?' That one's usually pretty safe."

"So what do you do?"

"I'm in law enforcement," he said. Maybe he shouldn't have encouraged the question, at this stage of the game. "And as a matter of fact, I _have_ been here before. What about you?"

"We were talking about you," said Scott. "I was enjoying that."

Tim'd maneuvered around that kind of evasion before. "If you're implying it's some kind of a criminal enterprise, we're going to run into problems, you and me," said Tim. "Nothing personal. I'm sure you're a fine fellow."

"Did I mention how not smooth I am?" he said, hanging his head for a moment. Tim read embarrassment in it, not guilt. "I promise I'm not a criminal. I'm an artist."

"And you didn't want to tell me that because you think I'm going to arrest you for paint under the fingernails?"

"Because I may or may not be trying to show a genuine interest," he said, "and people seem have this idea that being an artist means I'm flat broke and living in some hovel."

"I take that to mean said idea is misguided?"

"Well, it's not a hovel," said Scott. "Good enough?"

"Good enough for me," said Tim. "You already covered my baseline criteria. Never mix business and pleasure."

"Does that mean I'm pleasure already?"

"Well, I'm sure getting pleasure out of this bourbon," said Tim, "so that's a good start. If you'll excuse me, though, I just have a bit of business to take care of before I discover what kind of other pleasures you have to offer."

"I'm sorry?"

"Five minutes," said Tim, holding up five fingers even as he slipped off the stool. "Don't go anywhere." He took the bourbon with him as he crossed the room, partly because it made him less conspicuous and partly because he always did enjoy himself a free drink.

Holden Boyle wasn't even trying to hide, despite being a god damn federal fugitive. There he was right there by the pool table, and all it took was a flirty smile from Tim—which he actually happened to be pretty good at, despite all evidence to the contrary—and Holden let him come right up to him to slap the cuffs on.

Turned out Tim was right about where they'd find Holden, for entirely the wrong reasons. Holden wasn't anywhere near the show.

"What the...?"

"Don't pretend you think I'm being kinky," said Tim as he hauled him towards the door. "You know what you did."

"Goddamnit."

Tim dropped his not-yet-emptied glass off at the bar next to a staring Scott before hauling his fugitive out the door. "Be right back."

Art and Raylan were still chatting by the car when Tim hauled Holden over there, stumbling over the concrete like he was somehow being prevented from putting one foot in front of the other.

"Gutterson?" said Raylan. "You just went in there about five seconds ago."

"What, like it's hard?" said Tim, handing over the fugitive to their custody. "You two think you can handle this from here?" 

The guy was in cuffs with two law enforcement officers on the scene, one of whom was Raylan Givens. If they couldn't handle it, they needed to hand in their damn badges. Art was the one who hauled him into the car while Raylan lingered for a moment.

"Just handing him over to us?" he said. "You're not taking him in yourself?" 

Tim opened his mouth to say he left something inside and instead, "I've got a date to finish," came out. So he just rolled with it, gave Raylan a little salute and headed back into the bar before Raylan could comment on that. He could take care of his paperwork tomorrow.

Scott was still at the bar when Tim got back, which was a nice surprise because it wasn't every guy who'd stick around after they saw you haul someone else out in handcuffs; Tim'd been half expecting to have to track him down or, more likely, go home empty-handed. He didn't believe in signs, but if he had, this would probably be one.

"What was—"

"U.S. Marshal," said Tim before he could finish the question, throwing the rest of his drink back and ignoring all the patrons who were now staring at him. "I did mention I was in law enforcement. And now that I've got that bit of business out of the way, I'm free for the rest of the night. You want to get out of here?"

"Well, I was going to offer to buy you another drink while you told me what just happened," said Scott, "but you seem to have already done that nicely."

"It's kind of a weird night," said Tim, "and I'm not sure I want to stick around after that."

"You mean not all nights with you are like this?" said Scott, finishing his own drink. "I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. You do seem to have broken your rule about business and pleasure."

"Like I said, weird night."

"Well, in case it wasn't clear," said Scott, "my answer is yes, Yes, I would like to get out of here."

"You'll have to drive," said Tim, "there's a fugitive in my car."

"I almost wish I did buy you that second drink so you can elaborate on that," said Scott. "Almost. I'm parked around back. Let's go."

*

"So what was that about?" said Raylan. 

He was at Tim's desk, in Tim's chair, in time for Tim to arrive at the office in the morning, so no matter how casual he was trying to sound and no matter how low his hat was sitting over his eyes, he wanted Tim's full attention.

"That?" said Tim, looking back over his shoulder at where the door'd slammed behind him. "I think someone needs to look at those hinges."

"I think you know what I'm talking about."

"I think you need to let me sit down in front of my computer and my open case files and let me get to work," said Tim. "Some of us don't bring our personal lives into the office. But then, you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

"I would not," acknowledged Raylan, but it didn't get him out of Tim's chair. So Tim just shrugged and grabbed another one, because he wasn't about to stand there and be interrogated without claiming some territory of his own. "And I don't think that's a card you can play when you made a date in the middle of a bust."

Last night, when Tim shot off his mouth, that wasn't the moment of truth. Tim said all kinds of shit all the time and it didn't mean anything. That was part of why he did it. This, right here, was his actual moment. Whether Raylan thought he knew something or not, Tim could tell him he was an asshole right now and blow him off with some story about going back into the bar to clean up his mess before he went home and that would be the end of it.

He didn't.

"Date might have been overstating the encounter," said Tim instead. "Not to diminish it. It was what it was."

And he might not have had any intention of giving Raylan the play by play, but what it had been was several hours in which Tim proved that only way he brought work into the bedroom was in his attention to detail.

"Well, that's you, isn't it. Pragmatic to the core."

"How about you ask what you really want to ask?" 

Raylan wasn't going to make it that easy on either of them. "I do like myself some conversation," he said. "Sometimes the best way to get to the point is a nice meandering line that avoids all the bear traps and hornet's nests."

Tim had all kinds of bear traps and hornet's nests in the territory he put up around himself, not to mention land mines and razorwire. But not about this. Just because he was smart enough to be quiet about it didn't mean he had issues.

"He was a nice guy." Nice guy with a body that demonstrated he definitely did more with it than paint. "He had nothing to do with the bust. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"And so you...?"

"You fishing for details or just a generality?" said Tim. "Because if you have to ask me to spell it out, I'm going to start doubting all that skill other people keep attributing to you."

"Just ascertaining whether or not your date ended last night or this morning," said Raylan. "Suppose it's really none of my business."

"It really isn't."

Raylan nodded and made like he was going to get up out of Tim's chair, getting about halfway before he sat back down again. "But indulge my curiosity."

"That's all you got? Indulge your curiosity?" said Tim. "This is Kentucky, Raylan."

"It's _Lexington_."

"Be satisfied you have as much as you do and let it go." Raylan stayed there a few moments longer, then tipped his hat and finally got up out of the chair. Only then did Tim give him his answer. 

"Morning," he said. Just after sunrise and _very_ little sleep, when Tim gave Scott a good morning blowjob before Scott made him a cup of coffee to go. "No breakfast."

"Not very gentlemanly."

"It wasn't a very gentlemanly encounter," he said, slipping right into his vacated seat. Maybe not gentlemanly, but one of his more memorable. "What'd you tell Art?"

"That someone bought you something top shelf and you wanted to go back and finish it," said Raylan. "He didn't question that."

"I can imagine that he did not," said Tim. He didn't thank Raylan for the little white lie, but he did give him a nod of acknowledgment. "It wasn't top shelf, but that's close enough to the truth."

"Why'd you tell me, though?"

"Lack of good judgment," said Tim with a shrug. He wished he had a better answer than that. It wasn't like he ran around telling people about his private life. But sometimes there were just moments when enough was enough, when you got tired of the evasions and the double speak. "Won't happen again."

"Doesn't have to happen again," said Raylan pointedly. "I believe once did the job."

Sure enough, it seemed like it did. But that was an out and out lie, all the same. Tim didn't tell anyone anything about himself. Even the Marshal service knew dick all about his life outside of his service record. But Raylan Givens, that was a different story. Raylan Givens got what he wanted, and Tim had just enough weakness in that exact direction to give it to him if he came looking. Bit by bit.

Raylan was an idiot when it came to women, a complete moron about relationships, but a guy could trust him. 

"By the way, you've got a bit of..." Raylan gestured at his own face, right along his jawline below his right ear. "What is that, paint?"

*

"We got a call from Mystic," said Rachel.

"From Sunshine?"

"You got a new girlfriend already?" 

"You know how they all get sweet on him the moment they see the hat."

"No, it wasn't Sunshine," said Rachel. "Do you remember someone named Crystal?"

"Yeah, she was working the door," said Tim. Maybe he didn't have Raylan's rapport with the ladies, but he remembered every one of those girls from yesterday. "Pretty eyes. What'd she have for us?"

"You were looking at her eyes?" 

"Tim's a connoisseur," said Raylan. 

"She said she was working in the office when she overheard a phone call," said Rachel. "She can't be a hundred percent sure it was Clarence on the other end of the line, but odds are pretty good there's not another guy named Clarence on the run from Mystic right now. Sounds like he's going to lay low with someone named Jackie for a while."

"Is that a name that's popped before?"

"I ran it down," said Rachel. "His girlfriend Denise—"

"Denise?"

"You met her as Amber Dawn."

"'Met' might not be the word you're looking for there," said Raylan.

"She's got a cousin named Jackson, down in Williamsburg," said Rachel. "It might be a stretch, but it's all we've got so far."

"No, I've got a good feeling he's staying close," said Raylan. "Apparently his girlfriend is still at Mystic and we've got his brother in custody. He's the sort to stick around. A smarter man would be heading out of state by now."

"He already gave you two the slip once, do you really want him to be any smarter?"

"If we can trust this Crystal," said Raylan. "How about it, Tim? What did her eyes tell you?"

"Her eyes told me that she wears colored contacts and she's never killed a man," said Tim. "That what you were looking for?"

"It'll do," said Raylan. "Let's go pick him up, Gutterson."

"Enjoy yourselves," said Rachel. "I'm going to dig a little deeper into her statement, maybe head down to Mystic myself. Someone's on the place to see if Amber goes anywhere but he's sitting outside. I didn't want to set her running again."

"Ask for Sunshine if you go, she'll show you a good time, according to Raylan."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Rachel.

*

Jackson Wall's place was on the edge of town, so far out it was hardly even town anymore, just a house on a hill. Raylan took the front door and Tim hung back, keeping Raylan in sight but watching for other exits as well.

"Afternoon," he said, tipping his hat at the man who answered the door, no shirt and jeans not quite buttoned. Tim wasn't sure they'd caught him napping or something else he didn't want to know the details about, but he answered the door alone, anyway. No ink that Tim could see, nice build. The shirtless was a little distracting, to be honest, but Tim was a professional.

"Can I help you with something, officer?"

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens," he said, pulling back his coat to show his badge and gun. "Jackson Wall?"

"Yeah, that's me," he said. "What do you want?"

"Just to have a little chat," said Raylan. "You mind if me and Deputy Gutterson come inside?"

He hesitated, because even the most innocent people stopped and wondered if they should do that, but then he opened the door wider and stepped out of the way.

"You know someone by the name of Clarence Boyle?"

"Unfortunately," said Jackson.

"Is he here?" asked Raylan, like it was going to be that easy.

"What? No," said Jackson. "I never even met the guy, just heard about him from my Aunt June."

"And what did your Aunt June say about him?"

"That he was a no-good bastard but my cousin Denise probably deserved him," said Jackson. "She ain't too fond of Denise neither."

"Yeah, I wasn't too fond of her when she spit on my shoe," said Raylan.

"Actually, she spit _at_ your shoe the way you tell it," said Tim, "but I suppose it was the thought that counts. Is there anyone else in the house, Mr. Wall?"

"No, nobody," he said, as Tim looked around doorways and down halls. There was nobody else making a sound, though, if there was someone else around.

"You mind if we take a look around?"

"Knock yourselves out," he said. "Mind if I make myself some breakfast?"

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon."

"I work nights," he said. "I got no idea why you think Clarence's got anything to do with me anyhow. I ain't even seen Denise in a year or so, since the last time the family got together."

"Just a tip we got," said Raylan. Tim was still in earshot—there wasn't much house to look at and only so far he could get—but he wasn't finding anything. Just a well-kept house, as these things went, and not even any sign of criminal enterprise. He was too used to expecting that, he supposed. Some people were just decent, law-abiding folk. 

Tim came back into the room, gave Raylan a discreet nod before looking back at Jackson. He was still shirtless, cracking a couple of eggs into a bowl, trying too hard to pretend they weren't there. Tim gave him a quick up and down. He didn't miss it when Jackson did the same to him. They met each other's eyes for just a second, acknowledging each other without a word or even a gesture.

"If you do hear from either one of them, you want to give us a call?" said Raylan.

"Sure," said Jackson, "but don't hold your breath. Don't know why Denise would've given you my name. Wasn't even sure she remembered it from visit to visit."

"Maybe someone got you mixed up with somebody else," said Raylan, giving him a card. "Thank you for your time, Jackson, and you have a nice day."

"Sure, whatever," he said. 

A few moments later, they were headed back out to the car again.

"Wrong Jackie?" said Raylan.

"I'm thinking wrong Jackie," said Tim, pulling his phone out. "Let me give Rachel a call, see if she's dug something else up. And find us someplace to eat, would you? I'm starving."

"You want me to find us someplace to eat?"

"You're the one who insisted on driving," said Tim, unapologetically. "Anyone talked to Aunt June yet?"

"I think Rachel gave her a call, maybe ask her about that, too," said Raylan. "If she's out this way, we might as well hit her up too since we already made the drive and all."

"Maybe a burger," said Tim, phone up to his ear and starting to ring through. "I got a craving for a nice juicy burger, everything on it. None of that fast food shit. Anyplace around here we can get something like that?"

"You think I'd know?"

"We're not that far from your stomping grounds," said Tim. "Someone had to feed you growing up."

"Don't count on it," said Raylan. "And let's see if we can't solve a case without crossing into Harlan County. Find out what you can from Rachel first."

"Hey Rachel, guess who," said Tim into his phone as Raylan pulled out of Jackson Wall's driveway and headed back out onto the road again.

*

"We'll get someone from the Oklahoma office to talk to June Bassett," said Art, as Tim sipped a cup of coffee that was even more terrible than usual. Tasted like this morning's pot, reheated a half dozen times. At least it was strong. "You get anything useful out of Jackson?"

"Dead end," said Raylan. "No sign of Clarence. No sign of anything untoward at all, actually. I believe we may have visited an entirely innocent man."

"Will wonders never cease," said Tim. "Also, we had a really terrible meal."

"Are you still going on about that?" said Raylan. "That wasn't my fault. The place looked good."

"At least it was clean," said Tim. "Maybe that was the problem."

"Well, if we're down to your complaints about the food, I'm going to call it a day," said Art. "I'll see you all bright and early."

"Well, you'll see us, anyway," said Raylan. Tim'd be up early enough, though; old habits died hard, no matter what time he drove himself down into sleep. "What about you, Gutterson?"

"Finish up my paperwork first," he said. 

"You don't need to suck up to Art, he can't hear you from his office."

"You go ahead and leave yours to the end of the week and then start cussing up a storm when you can't get out of here early on a Friday afternoon," said Tim. "I'll get my shit done and sleep like a baby, thanks."

"No plans tonight?"

"What kind of plans you think I got in the middle of the week?" said Tim. "It's weird, you being more invested in my social life than I am."

"Just an innocent question," said Raylan, raising his hands but also his eyebrow like he thought he knew exactly what kind of plans Tim might have. "No need to get testy about it. Was going to see if you wanted to get a drink is all."

"Another time," said Tim. "I've seen enough of your face for one day."

"All right then," said Raylan. "See you in the morning."

Tim really did finish up his report, another old habit that wasn't going anywhere, and left his desk neat and tidy for the morning. No matter how much of a mess he felt like he was, his environment was still set up with military precision. The army had left him with a specific subset of skills, and an equally specific subset of issues, but at least that was one of the better ones.

*

The office was a bit of a shitstorm when Tim got in. Raylan wasn't around, because it was before nine in the morning and god forbid Raylan Givens observe office hours, which Tim could gripe about because he was pretty sure Raylan wasn't off on any kind of official business right now. Rachel was on the phone, looking completely collected because she never did give away anything. Art was also on the phone and therein lay the shitstorm: he was pacing and pounding and speaking a lot louder than he needed to be, just not quite loud enough that Tim could make out what he was saying.

"This'd be a lot easier if he'd face this way," he muttered.

"You can read lips?" said Rachel, hanging up the phone.

"More or less," said Tim. Enough to get the gist of a conversation, anyway. "What's going on?"

"He's talking to someone up at Tramble," said Rachel. "That's all I know."

"Well that could be anything," said Tim, turning away from the window when it was clear he was only ever going to get a back or a side profile. "You got anything more on the Boyle case?"

"No other Jackies have popped," she said. "Haven't heard back from Denise's mother yet, but I'm not holding my breath that'll lead us anywhere."

"Mornin'," said Raylan, striding up to his desk which Tim had taken to leaning against while he talked to Rachel, and Tim'd be damned, he actually was on time, if you weren't counting the seconds.

"Mornin'," said Tim. "You sure look chipper. Maybe I should've been asking _you_ if you had plans for last night."

"Had to find someone else to have drinks with me," said Raylan, "and no offense, but she was much prettier than you."

"Now you've gone and hurt my feelings, I'm not going to give you your coffee," said Tim.

"Aw, you're still pretty too," said Raylan, holding his hand out like Tim was just going to plant the coffee in there for him in return. "What's Art on about?"

"Don't know," said Rachel, crossing over to claim her own cup of coffee, "but I wouldn't go in there till he's done."

"When's a little yelling ever stopped me?" said Raylan, but Tim noticed he didn't make any movement in that direction. Probably just had nothing worth interrupting a good rant with.

He was about to sit down when Art finally turned and banged on the glass, motioning in their direction. Raylan put a hand to his chest, to establish who he wanted, and Art impatiently gestured at Tim, too.

"Looks like we're up," said Raylan, leading the way.

Art was still on the phone, turned away from them again. "All right," he was saying. "All right. Fine. I'll see what I can do." His fist was clenched and he tapped his knuckles against the edge of his desk. "You don't get to give the orders here, son."

He hung up the phone before anyone could say anything else, and tapped his knuckles a couple more times before turning around.

"Didn't need you, Givens, just him. He wants to talk to Gutterson," said Art. "The sonofabitch will only talk to Gutterson."

It didn't take a giant leap to figure out who the sonofabitch was in this case.

"Not the first time an unlawful sort only respected the man who brought him in," said Raylan. If he thought it was something else, some other thing they might've had in common, he didn't give a sign of it.

"Sure, I'll go," said Tim. "Got no place else to be."

"'Cept maybe at your desk under _my_ orders?" said Art. Neither Raylan nor Tim pointing out he had nothing outstanding, just the day's work ahead at least a good chunk of which had to do with the Boyle case anyway. "Shit. Stop being so god damn good that nobody else can take your place, would you?"

"I'll keep that in mind," said Tim. He didn't have a particular interest in going up to Tramble but at least he didn't have to drive a couple of hours out to Big Sandy just for an interview. "I'm sure you'll manage without me for an hour or two."

"I can't imagine how," said Raylan, and tipped his hat at him as he left.

"I was thinking," said Rachel, when Raylan returned to his desk and Tim returned for his coat. "How many of those pole dancers did you talk to you when you were over there?"

"They didn't all work the pole," said Tim. "Some of them had other special skills."

"We talked to who we needed to," said Raylan. "The girlfriend, the bouncer, the girl serving up his drinks."

"What I was thinking," said Rachel, "is if he was slipping it to one of the girls, who's to say she's the only one?"

"You're saying a man can't be faithful to his stripper girlfriend?"

"I'm saying Clarence Boyle doesn't have a history of successful long-term relationships," said Rachel. "Crystal said she overheard a phone conversation with Clarence, but she never saw the speaker. She said it sounded like Amber, but as far as we know nobody's actually laid eyes on her since she left with Boyle."

"If it wasn't Amber," said Tim, "then Jackie could be anyone."

"I think what you're saying," said Raylan, "is that I need to spend the morning at Mystic."

"Maybe the afternoon, too," said Tim. "Have fun."

"You're not going?" said Rachel.

"I get to take a little side trip to Tramble," said Tim. "Maybe I'll catch up later."

"You coming, Rachel?" said Raylan. "That's a lot of territory to cover."

"You sure you want to share the spoils with me?" said Rachel.

"Well, I hate to be greedy," said Raylan. "And girls being girls, maybe they'll open up more to you."

"Because I'm a better Marshal than you?"

"There is that."

"And smarter than you."

"Indisputably," said Raylan. "It'll be fun. I bet they even have a breakfast special."

"You know how much I hate to miss that," said Tim, "but I need to go talk to the other asshole right now."

* 

Holden Boyle already had a half dozen people on his case, and a handler who was supposed to be the one getting information from him, but the guy had completely clammed up on them. Till Deputy U.S. Marshal Tim Gutterson showed up on the scene. That was how he said it, too, every last syllable of his title.

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Tim Gutterson," he said. His hair was slicked back from his forehead, which given how much it had begun to recede was not the best look on him. Tim took notes on what not to do when the time came, since the time was coming for them all. "You're here."

"I didn't consider the assignment optional," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You have something to tell me?"

"You're very good with handcuffs. Did you know that?"

"It's a job requirement," he said. "A lot like being good with a gun, but I don't suppose you want me to demonstrate that one for you."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," he said. "Any luck catching my brother yet?"

"Unfortunately, he's a little less mesmerized by gyrating torsos than you are."

"Now we both know that's not true."

"Well, he managed to elude us in a strip club, so draw your own conclusions," said Tim. It wasn't any kind of admission; it was what it was. "But none of that explains what I'm doing here."

"I didn't think I needed to explain."

"That you're a creepy old man?"

"That I would rather deal with a...kindred spirit."

Tim was keenly aware that the interview was being both watched and recorded, but this wasn't his first rodeo. The best way to go was don't flinch, just roll with it if it got the man talking. Nothing you said in an interview room was ever going to be held as gospel truth by anyone. Rising to the bait was just going to call attention to him.

"Well, here I am," he said, spreading his arms wide like he was presenting himself. He didn't open his shirt, though. That was just a step too far. "So what've you got?"

"Don't be impatient, Deputy. I imagined this more of a get-to-know-you meeting."

"If that's what you're thinking, then we're done," said Tim, pushing himself back off the table and up. "I think we know one another well enough. I didn't come out here to be your friend."

"I've got information," said Holden. But not urgently. "I know names all the way up to the top. I've seen things."

"I think you've already given us everything you know," said Tim. "I think the couple of names you dribbled out when you and your brother first got caught were everything you can prove, and you've been stringing everyone along ever since on gossip and hearsay."

"But you don't know that for sure," said Holden. "Not that I'm saying it's true. But if you were sure of it, you wouldn't be here right now."

"I'm here because someone above my pay grade told me I needed to be here," said Tim. "Because you and me, we got a _rapport_. But so far, you've just been a dick."

"Yeah, I am a dick," said Holden. "I am definitely a dick."

That, actually, was enough to get Tim to sit back down. He appreciated the honesty and self-awareness. "That deal's not going to stay on the table forever. You know that, don't you?"

"But it'll stay a little while," said Holden. Well, Tim couldn't deny he was right about that. At least until his brother was back in custody. "I'm all you've got, and I'm not an idiot. You don't want me all that much."

"Well, you're certainly right about that," said Tim. "Tell you the truth, I kind of wish I was dealing with your brother instead of you."

"Clarence? You're not his type."

"Exactly," said Tim, leaning back and lacing his fingers and letting his hands rest against his abdomen. "I feel like I'd have his full attention. No distractions."

"Nothing gets Clarence's attention without better tits than that," said Holden.

"I can imagine that puts a damper on your brotherly bonding time."

"At least there's alcohol."

"Amen to that," said Tim. A very sincere amen to that. "And him coming up here just to see his girl Amber. In fact, you might even say it's his fault you got caught. Caught again, that is."

"So it was Amber this time?" said Holden. "Amber, Jade, Sapphire...so hard to keep track. You'd think he was collecting gemstones, guess he likes to think that sparkling names make a girl prettier." Tim hadn't been fishing for that but he filed the information away so he could call Rachel once he got out of this little meeting. "You wouldn't have had anything to talk about with him."

"Maybe not," said Tim, "so how about you tell me a little bit about you."

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Tim Gutterson," he said, "I thought you'd never ask."

*

Tim was on the clock so he didn't stop anywhere for a nooner, despite the text he got on his way back to his car providing an opportunity. That and spending that much time with Holden Boyle didn't leave his dick up for much of anything other than hiding in shame that he had even that much in common with the man. Why did Raylan always get all the interesting criminals anyway?

Actually, no, he wouldn't wish Raylan's life on anyone else, much less himself, and the one time he had an interesting criminal of his own, he'd had to put him down. That wasn't a road he wanted to go down again. Nobody needed a nemesis; real life Moriartys were a lot less fun than their fictional counterparts.

But it _was_ lunchtime, and there was this one little place on the way back from Tramble that he'd stopped at a time or three. He had this kind of innocent flirtation thing going on with one of the waiters, neither of them admitting a damn thing but fun all the same, and sly enough that he'd done it in front of people without them even noticing.

He was working when Tim walked in, which was the first good thing that had happened all day. At least he could be sure his libido wasn't crushed for good, even if it was in cautious recovery at the moment. To be honest, turned out Tim was feeling a little dirty and cheap from the whole interrogation, though it took him about an hour to figure that out.

"What can I get for you, Deputy? The usual?"

"The fact that I even have a usual means there are too many criminals in this state," said Tim, even as he nodded his head and didn't even glance at the menu. "You think it's too early for a beer?"

"It's never too early for a beer," said Daniel—Tim'd read his nametag ages ago; they'd never been properly introduced—and picked up the menu. "Any preference?"

"Whatever'll be fine," said Tim. "I've still got to go back to the office."

"Beer's hardly like drinking at all," said Daniel. A man truly after Tim's heart.

His phone rang while Daniel was in the kitchen, Rachel returning the call he'd made to her from up at the prison. "Sapphire's not at home and not answering her cell phone," she said. "Jade swears up and down she had nothing to do with Clarence, not that he didn't try, and my gut says she's telling the truth."

"Run down her contacts anyway," said Tim.

"Already on it," said Rachel. "Sapphire's not scheduled to go on till tonight. Raylan volunteered to come back."

"I am shocked by this unexpected development."

"And I'm seeing my nephew tonight so he's welcome to the overtime," said Rachel. "You get anything else out of Holden."

"Nothing worth repeating," said Tim, "but he tells me I could make some good coin as an exotic dancer myself. What do you think?"

"Would I pay good money to see you take your clothes off? Is that really a question you're asking me?"

"You think I should ask Raylan?" Daniel was on his way back to the table, beer and empty mug in hand; Tim spotted him before he got anywhere near him. "Hold that thought." He put his hand over the receiver. "Are you kidding me? Don't bother with that glass. Drink it straight out of the bottle or don't drink it at all."

"It's not really the same unless you get to wrap your lips around something," agreed Daniel, leaving the sweating bottle and taking the offending mug away again. 

He might've lingered if Tim hadn't been on the phone. Tim might've let him, if he didn't have business to take care of.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't worry, I was just having some quality time with that mental image," said Rachel. "You on your way back?"

"As soon as I get something to eat," said Tim. "Believe me, I've earned this."

"Holden was a tough nut?"

"Something like that," said Tim. "And I'd rather eat a slab of meat than be one."

"Gutterson, you do not get to complain to _me_ about being objectified," said Rachel. "I'll see you when you get back, you can help me sort through stripper statements."

"Highlight of my day," said Tim. Sad thing was, it was probably the truth. "Tell Art I'm on my way, save me the phone call."

"Will do," said Rachel, and Tim thumbed his phone off and put it away again.

Daniel was serving up some other tables, all smiles with them too, and Tim enjoyed the eye candy as he sat back and drained his beer before his lunch even got there. Sometimes, it was the little things.

*

Clarence's sparkly gemstone girlfriends weren't the eureka moment anyone had been hoping for, but Tim hadn't been holding his breath. Holden wasn't a criminal mastermind, but he wasn't an idiot either. He wasn't going to give them a straight line to his brother. Even if he wasn't particularly loyal, which Tim was starting to have his suspicions about, his brother's absence was what was giving Holden all his leverage right now.

It still kept him in the office for the rest of the afternoon, though, which he didn't have a particular objection to. Sometimes it was nice to have a day when you didn't put a couple hundred more miles on the odometer.

"Your friend, in the FBI," said Raylan, right out of the blue. He was looking at Tim curiously through the partition between them.

"Yeah, what about her?" said Tim. It took him a few moments to even figure out what Raylan was getting at. "Christ. Sometimes friend isn't a euphemism."

"Huh," said Raylan. "I always figured she must've liked you a whole lot, to give you that much information at the risk of her job."

"You'd think you never had a friend before. A friend'll go to a lot of trouble for you. It doesn't make it anything else."

"Well, _you_ go to a lot of trouble for me. I guess that makes you my friend," said Raylan. "And doesn't mean you're inappropriately attracted to me."

"I don't know, it might," said Tim.

"I will bear that in mind."

"You're a handsome man, Deputy Givens."

"I get in trouble every time someone says that to me," said Raylan.

"Yeah, but you _like_ getting in trouble," said Tim. "So did you need something, or...?"

"Sometimes a man goes fishing when he has a little time to kill."

"And so often, fishing expeditions are a disappointment," said Tim. "I'm not even sure what you were hoping to catch."

"Just a bit of clarity," said Raylan. "For the next time I try to set you up on a blind date."

"I prefer brunets," said Tim, "in case you need to know."

"I will add that to the list," said Raylan.

He was clearly still waiting for something, so Tim let him stew a little bit, turning back to the work on his desk for a few moments before finally answering the question that still remained unasked.

"No, I don't sleep with women." Or date them, but sex seemed to be the salient point here. Besides which, he also didn't currently date men, if one was actually looking for clarity on the subject. 

"I will also add that to the list," said Raylan.

"You should probably put it near the top," said Tim. "Are we going to do this bachelor style?"

"I was thinking more like dating game."

"That's because you're an old man," said Tim. "You just don't know it yet."

"I don't get any complaints," said Raylan.

"I feel that's probably a blatant lie, but in order to maintain your manly dignity, I'm going to refrain from pointing that out."

"You're a real giver, Gutterson."

"And don't you forget it."

*

When Sapphire didn't show up for her next shift, she pretty much became their new number one target in the pursuit of Clarence Boyle. They might not have gotten a chance to question her personally, but they got to spend a couple of days running down everyone she'd ever known, right down to her hairdresser and her high school boyfriend.

"Got something new for the two of you," said Art, as Raylan sat down at his desk with his hat over his face. "We've reached the bottom of this particular barrel."

"If it's going up to Tramble again, I'm going to need some more time to steel myself."

"Like that asshole's a hardship," said Raylan, sitting up. "What is it, Art?"

"A couple of out of state interviews," he said. "Columbus. I tried to get the southern Ohio office to take it but they're swamped, and frankly they just don't give a shit about this. Figure you could go up tonight, be back tomorrow after lunch, unless you want to head out before dawn."

"I might have plans for tonight," said Raylan.

"Cancel them," said Art. "You too, Gutterson. I'm not leaving this one alone with a prisoner right now."

"Really, Art?" said Raylan.

"It's your bed, so you lie in it."

"I don't have a personal connection to this one, do I?"

"Not that I'm aware of," said Art. "Gutterson?"

"Yes, sir," said Tim. It would practically be a vacation.

"That," said Art, shaking the case file at Raylan. "Is the correct answer. Here's your particulars. Now if those other assholes try to get Gutterson at their beck and call again, I can tell them he's unavailable without a word of a lie. They can do their own damn jobs."

"So I'm heading out of state to save Gutterson some grief."

"And also because I don't like you very much. Have fun."

"Thanks," said Raylan, taking the file before Art retreated back to his office again. He handed it off to Tim without opening it. "Hope you didn't have plans."

"I don't do plans," said Tim, taking a look. "Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Sure you do," said Raylan, calling him on it like he knew anything about Tim's life other than that which they'd already made clear. 

"Well, I was going to watch that Golden Girls marathon, but it's all right," he said. "I've got the DVDs."

"Sorry to spoil what sounds like a scintillating evening," said Raylan. "I'll try to be good company."

"You're no Dorothy, but I guess you'll do," said Tim.

They were on the road around dinnertime, Raylan promising to stop on the way for something approaching decent food. Tim wanted barbecue, but they were heading in the wrong direction for that and he was bound to be disappointed.

"Do you think Art doesn't trust me anymore?"

"I think Art places an inexplicable amount of trust in you considering how many suspects you lose, shoot and sleep with," said Tim. "Now ask me something you don't already know."

"Because we really don't need the two of us on this."

"Maybe he thought the drive would feel shorter if we had company," said Tim, like they both didn't know exactly why Tim was in the car with him. "Art gets some funny ideas sometimes."

"Sure does," said Raylan, and let a fairly comfortable silence fall for a little while. Tim thought about closing his eyes but he just couldn't make himself do it.

"You figure on going out and doing anything tonight?" he asked finally, because sometimes Raylan just couldn't help opening his mouth.

"You mean, am I going to take advantage of being out of state to go out and get laid?"

"If that's how you want to take the question, sure," said Raylan.

"I have ideas," said Tim vaguely. "I'm sure you've got ideas too."

"Do your ideas involve us needing to get two separate motel rooms?" said Raylan. "Because our expense budget doesn't cover that, but I'm willing to kick in if necessary."

Tim snorted. "Not planning on bringing anyone home, Raylan."

"I'm a little worried we haven't even gotten there yet and you're calling it home."

"Says the guy who spent his first few months in Lexington living out of a motel room."

"Fair point," said Raylan. "I _earned_ the right to call that one home, though."

Now that he thought about it, though, Tim wasn't sure he ever had. He wasn't sure just what Raylan Givens called home.

"Should I be asking you the same question?"

"You worried about seeing some lady parts where you aren't expecting them?"

"I think I can handle it," said Tim, even more dryly than he usually would have. "The female body isn't a _complete_ mystery to me."

"Well, I wasn't rightly sure of that," said Raylan. "Not that I expect it to be a problem tonight."

"At least you know I'm not likely to stick around if it is," said Tim. "I know how much trouble you have keeping it in your pants."

"I do know how to keep my pants on," said Raylan, with an edge that suggested he was actually getting defensive about it. There was a real nerve there that Tim hadn't realized. That didn't mean he wasn't going to hit it, but Tim was a man who liked precision strikes. He didn't just lash out without understanding his target. "I just choose not to."

"That's why it's a free country," said Tim. "But I'm not letting you sleep with any suspects, no matter how much you bat those pretty eyes at me."

"Well there goes my whole reason for making this trip," said Raylan. "Let's stop in Cincy for dinner. I know a place."

"We all know a place in Cincy," said Tim. "What's your place?"

"Just this place I know," said Raylan. "You're going to have to trust me."

"I'm going to have to what now?" said Tim. "You lost your 'trust me' privileges last time."

"Just last time?"

"You're right," said Tim. "You never had trust me privileges."

Except when he did, of course. Tim had chain of command flowing through his veins. If they were in a situation and Raylan was in charge, Tim wouldn't bat an eye before trusting him with that. It was all about the circumstances.

"Trust me anyway," said Raylan. "Call it the law of averages. I'm bound to not disappoint you one of these times."

"That's the line you use to get so many women, isn't it?" said Tim. "You ladykiller, you."

"Thin ice, Gutterson," he said, but that time Tim knew he'd struck the place he wanted to, just the right side of amused.

"All right, you get to pick on the way up," said Tim, "but I get to pick on the way back down."

"Done deal," said Raylan, and turned the radio on.

They didn't need to talk the whole time. Three hours plus dinner was plenty of time to enjoy some silence.

*

After dropping their bags off at the motel and checking in with the southern Ohio field office just to let them know they were in town, Raylan and Tim didn't waste any time changing their clothes—well, Tim changed, Raylan didn't bother—and heading their separate ways.

Tim'd been in town often enough that he knew exactly where to go, but not so often that he cared about anyone he knew spotting him. Three hours in a car with Raylan was a stretch, but a three hour drive on a day off to get some privacy went by quickly enough. It was worth it.

The club was packed for a weeknight, probably some half price drinks special he didn't know about and didn't care about. He wasn't here for that.

He didn't want to call what he did cruising, because that made him sound kind of cheap and desperate but...well, that was what it was. God damn the queer lexicon anyway. He spotted a couple of guys that were just his type and he knew damn well were looking back, and one in particular he had a good feeling about. You wanted someone who was looking for the same thing you were, and that wasn't always the same thing from night to night. 

Tim didn't want a relationship. He didn't even want a night. He just wanted a moment.

He sent a drink over, because nothing said lovin' like alcohol, and when he was sure he had his attention and interest, Tim led the way out back. Not ideal or romantic, as these things went, but way better than getting busted inside.

They kissed first, fierce and deep, and when Tim was sure the guy knew what the hell he was doing, which wasn't a guarantee no matter how good they looked, he got down to business.

"Come on," said Tim, "I don't got all night."

"What is that accent, Texas?"

"It's a lot of things," said Tim, pulling the guy closer. He was getting to old for this shit. He really did need to start renting motel rooms or something, no matter what he said to Raylan. Barely thirty and his knees were going to start giving out soon if he kept abusing them with concrete and asphalt. "You really want to talk?"

The sound of a belt unbuckling followed; the light was out in the alley, which was why he'd chosen this spot, but it meant Tim's vision wasn't quite as acute as he liked. He wasn't used to finding things by touch, not even when he was doing this. The guy had a nice cock, though, smelled good, felt nice and thick in his hand. This cock made him think of the last time he'd been fucked, not that he was going to do anything like that right there and then. What he wanted tonight with this guy definitely wasn't the same as what he'd wanted that night with Scott.

Instead he dropped to his knees and was pleased that there was no creak or crack in them, pressed the guy's slim hips up against the brick wall and swallowed him down. He didn't need to make a production of it, sucking cock. He didn't look up and give the guy doe eyes that he probably couldn't even see anyway, didn't make it fancy. He'd done this often enough, and just like this, that he could take it deep right off, bob his head to make it nice and slick, then take it into his throat so the guy could fuck his face if he wanted.

Tim'd never been afraid that someone would take advantage of him like that. He could lay out the average guy in no time flat, and there wasn't a lot they could do to hurt him in this position. He could take it, mostly, and if they wanted to pull his hair and leave his throat a little raw, well, Tim'd seen combat. That was nothing.

He'd get his back in the end anyway.

"Goddamn," said the guy, his voice rough, appreciative. He wasn't one of those guys who was going to try to take advantage of Tim, he just wanted to get off and Tim really was fucking good at this. He ought to be, by now. "Holy good goddamn."

To be honest, though, he'd been hoping the guy was a bit of a quick trigger. He wanted the feel of a cock in his mouth tonight, that sweet stretch, but he was tired from the drive and Raylan Givens was fucking exhausting. He was lucky he was easy on the eyes, that was all Tim was saying.

"Fuck, jesus fuck," he said, then he did pull Tim's hair when he came. Tim reached up and firmly untangled his hand, with the guy's cock still in his throat. He only let go when he backed off and stood up again. "Sorry, sorry. It was just—"

"I know," said Tim, and looked at him expectantly.

"Do you want to—" The next words of his mouth were almost certainly going to be "get out of here" which Tim wasn't even going to let him say.

"Can't," he said, "so can we just...?"

"Sure, sure," said the guy, and reached down to open Tim's pants, shoving a hand inside. Tim pushed his own jeans down past his hips but it wasn't a cue for the guy to go down on him, he really just wanted a handjob by someone with rough, strong hands. That's pretty much what he picked him for; the nice dick was a bonus. He pushed his pants out of the way because no way was he going back to a motel room that he shared with Raylan with a wet spot anywhere. Raylan thought he knew too much already.

"Yeah, like that," he said, his voice dropping deeper than usual. Sucking cock turned him on something fierce, so there was no shortage of lubrication down there for the guy to take advantage of. He thumbed over the head just right, and yeah, he _knew_ what to do with his hands.

Tim knew how to pick 'em. Most of the time.

He came with a choked gasp, reaching forward to brace himself against the wall with one arm. He had a crumpled kleenex in one pocket which he used to clean himself up afterwards, dropping it in a dumpster. There was a bit of come at the hem of his shirt, which he tucked into his pants when he did them up again and figured nobody but him ever needed to know about.

"Thanks," he said, pushing his hair back from his face with both hands, just for a moment.

His eyes had long since adjusted to the alley, and he could see the finer features of the guy's face now. No more than twenty-five, he would guess. Nice dark eyes. Crooked smile that reminded Tim of a guy he knew back in basic.

Another time, another place...but then Tim didn't do that. Not in the Marshals and sure as hell not in Kentucky.

"Yeah," he said. He still hadn't entirely caught his breath. Tim just smiled and felt a little but smug about it. "So I'll..."

"I'm from out of town," said Tim, and kissed him one last time for good measure, and for politeness's sake. "Pleasure meeting you."

He nodded his head, and when he headed back in the club, the noise of it spilling out the door as soon as he opened it again, Tim didn't follow. He was parked at the other end of the alley, and he'd gotten what he came for already. He hadn't always been so utilitarian about it, but tonight wasn't about finding a soulmate. He'd had a drink, danced a little, gotten off with a good looking guy and now he was going to pick up a bottle and head back to the hotel.

Seemed to him like the ideal way to spend a night away from home.

*

Lights were on in the motel room when he got back, which he hadn't actually been expecting. He figured he wouldn't be the only one sowing his wild oats tonight.

"Where _you_ been?" said Raylan, like he didn't know.

"Sucking cock," said Tim. 

"Well hell, you didn't need to leave the motel room for that," said Raylan.

"You're not funny," said Tim, taking a bottle out of a paper bag and planting it on the tiny countertop next to the minifridge and the coffeemaker.

"Who says I'm trying to be?"

"Raylan Givens, the day you're into anything but women is the day I go and shack up with Art Mullen."

"Yeah, you're right," admitted Raylan, easy and comfortable. "You're pretty, Gutterson, but not that pretty."

"I'm the god damn cocksucking king of Kentucky, too, you don't even know what you're missing."

Raylan let out a surprised laugh; Tim did like to surprise him out of his complacency sometimes. It was more interesting doing it with laughter than anger, and much more rare. "I'm not sure you get enough practice for that title," he said, "but sure, I'll give it to you. No skin off mine."

"Believe me, I've earned it."

He poured himself a drink in a glass, because he was civilized, then because he was a gentleman he poured another for Raylan.

"Why _aren't_ you out tonight?"

"Oh, my dick gets me in more than enough trouble in Kentucky," said Raylan. "Best I try not to cross state lines with it."

"Pretty sure your dick's gotten you in trouble in Florida, too," said Tim. He drained one drink, poured himself another, and only then did he sit down next to Raylan. He hadn't realized the television was on, muted, showing the sports scores from earlier that evening. Tim wasn't particularly interested in any of the games, but he looked at it for a few moments anyway.

"I think that just proves my point."

"Yeah, I guess it does," said Tim. He picked up the remote to put the sound back on, then put it down again on the sofa cushion in between them without hitting any of the buttons. "So here we are."

"Here we are," agreed Raylan. "You know what I always wondered?"

"Does it have something to do with dicks?"

"Not specifically," said Raylan.

"Not a specific dick, or not dicks as a particular part of something more general?"

"The second one," said Raylan. "Because I've been thinking about it."

"About my sex life? Looking for pointers?"

"Not your sex life," said Raylan. "I've been thinking about it, and I don't think I missed the signs. Not about you being bent, I totally missed that one, but I don't think you've been seeing anyone in the whole time I've known you."

"Between you and Rachel, I think we have enough failed relationship drama in the Marshal's office, don't you?" said Tim. He didn't remembering emptying his drink, and he'd foolishly left the bottle behind. "I'm not sure where this is going, but you're the last person I'd go to for relationship counselling. Literally the last person, out of everyone I know, and that includes the many people I have helped incarcerate."

"We need another drink for this," said Raylan, pushing himself up from the sofa with only a minor protest and bringing the bottle back with him. Tim just held out his cup in silent agreement. "You probably don't care much for me saying something."

"You are correct, I do not," said Tim.

"I hate to see someone make all the mistakes that I did."

"You have a lot of sex in back alleys in your younger days?"

"Okay, and some mistakes I never got around to," amended Raylan. "I've just been thinking."

"Which you have already stated."

"That you don't need to feel like just because you're a U.S. Marshal in Kentucky, you can't have a boyfriend."

"Raylan," said Tim, studying his glass of bourbon like it would help him get through this conversation. Which it was only going to do once it hit his bloodstream and not while it was still in his glass. "There are so very many reasons I am not prepared to have a significant other that have absolutely nothing to do with my chosen career or my geographic location."

"Yet I can't help thinking those are contributing factors."

"Those are contributing factors to why you're the only person in the state I could legitimately have this conversation with," said Tim, "not to why I choose the lifestyle that I choose."

"And here I was given to understand it wasn't a choice," said Raylan, smirking into his drink before finishing it off.

"Asshole," said Tim. "Are we done?"

"For now," said Raylan. 

"You know, I was worried that telling somebody meant it was going to get around to everyone I knew real fast," said Tim. "You know the drill, lip service to equality but lack of career advancement. But now I know there are much, much worse things that I should've been worried about."

"Just be thankful I wasn't asking you questions about your blowjob technique."

"Raylan," said Tim, with all the honestly and all the dignity in the world, "I'd _rather_ you were asking me about my blowjob technique."

Raylan laughed and refilled their glasses one more time and that really was the end of it. For now, anyway.

*

Katie Kay was Sapphire's sister, the youngest in the family and a sophomore at Ohio State. She was also the former roommate of Lacey, one of the other dancers at the club, which gave her more than enough connection to warrant a visit from the Marshals.

"I haven't talked to my sister in weeks," she said as she poured them both a cup of tea, unasked for and clearly more of a comfort for her than a hospitality for them. "That guy sounds like just her type, though. The only thing missing is a motorcycle."

"So she hasn't mentioned him?"

"Last time we talked we didn't talk about guys at all. I guess she gets enough of that at work, so when she called we talked about _my_ life."

"And what about Lacey?" said Raylan. "Has she ever mentioned Clarence?"

Lacey might not have been a gemstone, and her name had never come up before in their investigation, but no sense not asking about it while they were here. People might have their preferences but nobody Tim knew had ever been entirely exclusive about things like _names_.

"Lacey?" said Katie, clearly startled they'd brought her name up. "No, why would she...? No."

"Just wondering if she might've been involved with him, and we know you lived with her last year. That the sort of thing the two of you might still talk about?"

"No, I... no," said Katie. "She wouldn't...no." She sat down across from them, uncomfortable and not meeting their eyes for a moment. Tim waited it out. "Lacey's my ex," she said finally. "She lost her scholarship after last year and couldn't make ends meet. I figured if she was determined to put some money away dancing, I could at least send her down to my sister. You know, someone to look out for her? That didn't turn out so well, I guess, but she wouldn't with that guy. She wouldn't with _any_ guy."

"You're sure?" said Raylan, who _would_ ask that.

"Positive," she said. "When we do talk, she always talks about the gross guys she sees every night. I mean, no offense, or whatever. She might've seen him there, but he's just one of dozens, to her. Look...if Lacey's in trouble or in danger or whatever..."

"She's not in trouble or danger," said Raylan, then looked at Tim like he expected him to add something else. Tim wasn't sure what, though. He didn't really have any more of a kinship with her than Raylan, just because they had that in common, but he gave her a reassuring smile all the same and he liked to think she could see the sincerity in it.

"We'll keep an eye out for her during our investigation," he said, "but I wouldn't worry. Now your sister, her I'd worry about."

"I always do," said Katie, sighing. "I wish I could help you more, but..."

"We knew it was a longshot," said Raylan. "We appreciate your time. And if you do hear anything from your sister—or anyone—you'll give us a call?"

She took the card that Tim was offering, and Tim drank his tea because he was polite.

When they were back outside getting into the car, Raylan just shrugged at him. "Worth a shot," he said. "I'd say there's no one she was protecting."

"Other than Lacey."

"Other than someone who deserves a little protecting," amended Raylan. "And there was definitely no one else in the apartment with her. On to the next one?"

Andrew Rath, not connected to Mystic but one of Clarence's old associates in other venues, was harder to track down and a lot harder to talk to. Mostly because he was dead.

"Car accident, before Christmas," said Tim, after a short conversation with the building manager at one address past the last known address they started with. "You think someone could've found that out for us before we came?"

"We can give Art hell when we get back," said Raylan. "Should we confirm, or get on the road?"

"That really was the bottom of the barrel," said Raylan. "You can make a couple of calls before we hit city limits. Doubt there'll be any reason for us to turn around."

*

"Nobody said anything about him being six feet under," said Art when they got back to the office. "Just as well you're back. I did my best but they want Tim back up at Tramble."

"Goddamnit."

"I don't like it either," he said, "but Rachel's stalled out on what leads we've got so far and Clarence has gone to ground hard. There are only so many times Givens can visit the same strip club."

"I believe he would beg to differ."

"Officially, you're going up there to see what Holden will give away about his bosses. The AUSA knows they're responsible for multiple murders, he just can't prove it until someone steps up. This is about what he knows, not about his brother."

Tim already knew that, which meant Art was making a point. "And unofficially?"

"Clarence Boyle is a pain in my ass and I want him off our desks and back in prison."

"Sooner the better," agreed Tim. He didn't even get to sit down at his desk before he was back out the door again. At least he got to drive his own vehicle this time.

He couldn't read the looks the guys up at Tramble were giving him when he showed up again. Probably no looks at all, and it was all in his head. Holden Boyle was not doing Tim any favors in the mental health department.

"So we meet again," he said, sitting down at the table across from Holden. Holden had a bit of stubble now, and his hair wasn't styled at all. It should have just made him disheveled, but it actually was a good look on him, comparatively speaking. Tim didn't tell him that.

"You're looking mighty fine today, Deputy," said Holden. "Is that a glow?"

"I don't glow," said Tim. "So tell me why I made the drive today when I could've been at my desk clipping my toenails."

"I think it is a glow," said Holden. "Well, good for you. I hope he's everything you dreamed of."

"Oh yeah, a fucking dream come true," said Tim. And then sat silently and waited. He could wait all day. He could wait days. Holden had no idea how long Tim could sit there and stare at him.

"Oh yeah?" said Holden, like Tim had said that in all sincerity. "Do tell. I get so little gossip in prison."

Prisons were hotbeds of gossip, though not a lot of the romantic variety, he would wager. He stared. He waited.

"All right, you can keep your secrets," said Holden. "But then I can keep mine as well, can't I?"

Not if he wanted any kind of deal. And Tim didn't have any glow about him anyway, he didn't have a new lover and he knew damn well that Holden was just trying to wind him up. Tim actually spent quite a bit of his time sexually satisfied, all things considered.

"I always did like the strong, silent type," Holden tried. "You are just picture perfect, sitting there, aren't you."

As if the Marshals kept him around for his decorative properties and not for his aim. He crossed his arms.

"I know it's a cliché, but the strong silent type is a favorite for a reason," said Holden.

Tim didn't even change his expression this time. He certainly did not agree with the sentiment. The strong silent type preferred someone who wasn't exactly like them, in his experience. Not that he was particularly strong or silent himself, outside of this moment. Not in his opinion.

"All right, fine," said Holden. "What's it going to take to make you crack?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. Holden knew exactly what he needed to do here. As far as Tim was concerned, they were barely getting started.

Holden sighed. "You ever hear of someone called Hank Dormer?"

Tim leaned forward against the table again, meeting Holden's eyes and holding them. Maybe there were finally going to get somewhere. "Tell me more."

*

"He won't commit to having seen anything, just drops hints about what he might've seen, might've done," said Tim, screwing up his face in frustration. "Honestly, Art, these trips are a waste of my time. He's playing games, and not very good ones, and he's getting away with it because he's all they've got."

"It's not my call," said Art, as apologetic about that as he ever got. "They've never had anyone high enough in the organization before to do some damage like this, and I hear tell you're getting closer every time."

"Holden isn't high up in anything."

"He's above a street corner dealer, and we have confirmation of that, at least," said Art. "It's a shit detail, but it can't be that hard, Gutterson."

"No, no," he said. Not hard at all, not in that sense. "It just pisses me off."

"Well hopefully we can put your skills to better use now that you're back," said Art. "Unfortunately, you being pissed off isn't enough to get you out of that one."

"You need somebody shot you didn't tell me about?"

"I keep a list in my desk," said Art. "But not today. Talk to Rachel, she'll get you caught up."

"Will do," said Tim, recognizing a dismissal without Art having to spell it out. Tim had army in his blood, but that didn't mean he needed the commands to do what needed to be done.

"So Amber turned up," said Rachel. "Staying at her ex-sister-in-law's place."

"She has an ex-sister-in-law?"

"That would be why we didn't track her down sooner," said Rachel. She must've been digging deep for that connection. "She wasn't hiding out from us, she was just pissed off at Clarence and laying low till she figured out what to do about it. Called him a bastard who dropped her before the engine had even cooled from their getaway."

"She have any idea where he'd be going next?"

"Raylan's in with her now," said Rachel, nodding across the room, "but I doubt it or she would've gone there and shot him herself. She backed up what you found out about Sapphire, though. Knew he'd been fooling around with someone, because he'd been with someone else while he was fooling around with her."

"And yet she's surprised when she's dumped for the latest model?"

"Never said she was surprised, just that she was pissed off," said Rachel. "I gather she gave him a good chunk of change before he dropped her."

"Not one of her better decisions," said Tim, "and considering who she was shacked up with in the first place, that's saying a lot."

"I'll fault her for her lack of common sense," said Rachel, "but we can't help who we fall for. Even if it's someone like Clarence Boyle."

"All right, I'll give you that one," said Tim. "Who hasn't made some spectacularly bad decisions when it comes to romance?"

"I don't know," said Rachel, "I've never heard _you_ talk about it."

"No," agreed Tim. "You haven't." And then, because he didn't want to leave it like that. "Believe me, _everyone_ has made spectacularly bad decisions at one time or another."

"You'll have to tell me about it some time," said Rachel.

"Maybe I will," said Tim. And maybe he even would. Raylan knew now, after all, and Rachel was in all ways the more sensible choice. 

"Can you run these down to the courthouse for me?" she said. "Since you haven't had time to get started on anything else yet?"

Tim _still_ hadn't had a chance to sit down at his desk. "Sure, I'm always up for a ride in the elevator," he said. "Judge Reardon?"

"You know it," she said.

Tim didn't even really look at the papers she handed him, didn't much care what they were as long as it got him out of the conversation about his personal life. Not that Rachel had much interest in pursuing it, or so it seemed; that sort of thing had a way of coming back around, and Rachel was sly.

He left them with Reardon's secretary and took the scenic route back, since no doubt Raylan was still interviewing Amber and that was what Tim was really interested in at the moment.

It took a few moments for him to recognize Scott when he saw him in the hallway, but that was mostly because he was in a suit and tie and had his head down as he came down the stairs with the AUSA at his side. He looked good.

Tim thought about saying something to him for one crazy, impulsive moment, then just turned and headed for the elevators instead. His impulses were getting him into all kinds of trouble these days; he was clearly spending too much time with Raylan Givens. It was just his luck he had to wait for one long enough that he couldn't help but look around the foyer again, and there was Scott looking right back at him.

Well, there was no avoiding this one, then. They both stood there for a moment, then Scott was the one who came to him.

"Artist?" said Tim, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sometimes I pay the rent picking up some work as a sketch artist," said Scott. "I wasn't lying."

Sketch artist was a really specific skill, with really specific training. Not that he didn't think Scott was telling the truth but, well, it wasn't a gig that a person just fell into sometimes.

"So much for not mixing business and pleasure," said Tim, shaking his head. Once he got out of the army, where options were a whole lot more limited, he'd been pretty careful about that. One might even call it religiously careful.

"I swear, I'm only here for a meeting," said Scott, like he had something to apologize for. "Nice to know you're still thinking about it as pleasure, though."

Tim looked around, but there was no one paying particular attention to their conversation. The elevator came and went. "It was a good night," he said. "We got our man. I'd say that qualifies as pleasure, by most measures."

"Listen, do you get off soon?" said Scott. "Do you want to go get a drink?"

"That's a real tempting offer," said Tim, "but I don't date."

"At all?"

"And I definitely don't date at work."

Scott nodded his head, and he didn't make a thing out of it, but he did reach into his pocket and fish around and come out with a business card. His name really was Scott, which was good because Tim'd given him his real first name too. It was better in bed that way.

"If you change your mind," he said. Tim had pretty much already inferred that. "I don't date much either, but sometimes it seems worth giving a shot."

"That sounded like a compliment, so thank you," said Tim. He did pocket the card, but made no promises. Someone else had punched the button for the elevator, and this time when it dinged he couldn't really ignore it. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"You just might," said Scott, then turned back to where AUSA Vasquez was lingering by the door, talking to one of the court clerks while he waited.

They didn't need to say anything else. Tim got in the elevator and Scott carried on with his business and that was that. Just a chance encounter. Artist had seemed distant enough at the time, but maybe Tim ought to stick with bartenders and bike messengers and people who worked in flower shops. Bike messengers might cross his path, but at least their asses made it worth the risk.

Lexington was a big enough city, but sometimes it really was a god damn small town.

* 

Tim used the internet more than the people around him seemed to think he did. How the hell did they think he got anything done in a day? Raylan was the Luddite, rather let someone else do the homework and just go off pistol packing into some highly charged situation. Tim was a fan of information, the more he had, the better decisions he could make.

Of course, his personal life was probably where he made the most bad decisions, so it made sense that it was the one part of his life he rarely used the internet for. Still, he used it for hookups sometimes. Lexington might've been the gayest city in Kentucky but that still wasn't saying much. There weren't a whole lot of places to go, and the internet opened up a whole new world of anonymous sex.

The guy he invited back to a motel room (never his place) was allegedly six feet tall with sandy hair and a cowboy fetish, and he let himself laugh for a moment over the image of Raylan Givens showing up at his door before he grabbed his keys off the counter and headed over to the place, not far from his apartment but far enough. And clean enough, for a cash only business with hourly rates. It was a thing.

The guy was actually as advertised, it turned out, and though Tim doubted his name was Lyle any more than his own name was Mark, he was exactly what Tim was looking for at that moment. Tim even blew him twice, because he was a giver like that and not just because he had what was maybe the most perfectly shaped cock Tim had ever seen. He didn't have a huge mental inventory, not compared to a lot of people, but he was a bit of a connoisseur in that department and it definitely measured up.

He was just letting Lyle jerk him off one last time—great cock, terrible oral skills—when his phone rang.

"Ignore it."

"I can't," said Tim when he saw it was the man himself, Raylan Givens.

"You're a little busy."

"Hold that thought," said Tim, to Lyle's visible frustration (what the hell did he have to be frustrated with, he'd already come), grabbing his wrist to slow his movements if not stop them entirely as he answered the call. "Gutterson."

"Hey Tim," said Raylan. "You got a minute."

"Uh, depends on what this is about."

"Some details of the Boyle case are rattling around in my brain and I figured maybe they'd turn into something if we hashed them out some." Raylan didn't call anyone just to hash things out. More likely someone had bailed on him and he was at loose ends. "But if you're busy..."

Tim squeezed harder to keep Lyle from jerking him off while he was on the phone. "I can meet you somewhere. That bar where you live?"

"That'd be best," said Raylan. "Always sure I'll make it home that way."

"Okay, bye," said Tim as he ended the call, tossing the phone away and letting go of Lyle's wrist at the same time. "Okay, Jesus, go. Go go go!"

He didn't last very long after that.

*

Tim actually kind of liked the High Note, for all it was pretty much a student bar. It had some good local brews on tap, and it never really got too rowdy or too quiet. Too quiet, and it looked sad when you were drinking alone; too rowdy and you didn't get a moment of peace with your drink.

Not that he was drinking alone tonight. Raylan was already waiting for him. Of course, all Raylan'd had to do was go downstairs where Tim actually had to get up, get dressed, blow someone goodbye and drive out there. 

"You were with someone when I called, weren't you?" said Raylan as Tim sat down across from him with his beer.

"And if I was?" said Tim. "Doesn't matter."

"You could've told me to fuck off, you'd see me in the morning," said Raylan. 

"I was done anyway," said Tim. "Mostly."

"You were only mostly done and you still answered your phone?"

"Well, it was work related," said Tim. "You never noticed I always answer when it's you? Maybe I should stop if my attention is not being valued."

"Maybe you should," said Raylan. They both knew that he wouldn't. "So...your boyfriend, then?"

"Jesus no," said Tim before he could stop himself and be cool about it. "You say that like I'm a teenage girl who was out holding hands with some boy at the mall."

"If that was all I thought you were doing, I wouldn't be worried about you answering your phone."

"There is not, never has been and never shall be a boyfriend," said Tim. "This was not that kind of a situation."

"Well, never say never," said Raylan. "It's the kind of thing that just shows up and beats you over the head."

"How _do_ you make it sound so appealing?"

"It's the feminine touch," said Raylan. "They make me all poetic."

"Look, enough," said Tim. "Enough. You think I don't know I'm not really a great long-term prospect? I work terrible hours, I drink too much and I have nightmares that wake a person up screaming." None of which would be news to Raylan, not even the nightmares.

"Well, don't we all," said Raylan, draining the last of his bourbon and signaling for another. "Just don't let it stop us."

"And just look where that's landed you," said Tim. "No offense, Raylan, but I'm not putting you up on my wall as a role model."

"If you did, I was going to ask you where you got a pin-up of me."

"Oh, they sell those down by the courthouse doors," said Tim. "You can get them with or without 'Wanted' written under your face."

"Dead or alive?"

"In some circles," said Tim. "If this little meeting isn't really about the case, though, I'm going to be mighty pissed off with you."

"Don't be like that, you knew it wasn't urgent on the phone," said Raylan unapologetically. "You strike me as a boy who knows how to say no. I was thinking you could tell me more about all those interview you've been doing with Holden, see if something shakes out. You've been mighty tight-lipped."

"I'm not tight-lipped, I just have nothing to tell, and if I have to drive up to Tramble one more time to talk to Holden fucking Boyle, I'm going to shoot somebody in the head."

"Coming from you, that is no idle threat."

"I can't grasp his game, and it's driving me nuts," said Tim. "I don't know if he's playing me for something that I don't know I'm giving him, or he's using me to play someone else. Or if it's exactly what it looks like on the surface and he's wasting my time while killing some of his own."

"From what I now know of the Boyle boys, probably just that," said Raylan. "He's not gonna give us shit, is he."

"Then he's an idiot," said Tim. "He knows he's not going to walk on those charges. If you just want to kill time, you don't talk to anyone at all."

"Well, maybe he really does just like to look at you."

"New guard up at Tramble's way better looking than me. I'm definitely not the best game in town."

"Well, I guess you'd know."

"I guess I would," said Tim. "If only he hadn't broken out the pictures of the new wife and baby the first time we ever said hello. My imaginary affair was over before it started."

"The good ones are always straight or taken, isn't that what they say?"

"Don't," said Tim. "Do not. Anyway, Holden's an asshole and he's treating me like his personal plaything and Art's letting him. Letting him bat me around's not my damn job." And nobody's patience was infinite, not even Tim's.

"I suppose they live in hope that one day he'll give in to your charms, no matter what game he thinks he's playing."

"Guess I'm going to have to work on my charms," said Tim. "I wasn't aware I had any."

"Well, maybe that's your problem," said Raylan. "Give the guy a smile once in a while, would you?"

"Raylan, I am going to shoot you."

"You are welcome to try," said Raylan.

Tim couldn't help but wonder, given the opportunity and non-lethal projectiles, just who would come out on top in that particular game. Raylan was the acknowledged master of the quick draw, but Tim had skills of his own.

"You think Holden thinks his brother has a plan? Is going to get him out of there before either of them has to give up their crew?"

"It's as good an explanation as any," said Tim. "All those trips and I have nothing to work with other than innuendo and vague intimations. Which believe me, is the same as nothing."

"God damn Boyles. We should have Clarence back in custody already," said Raylan. "It should have been an easy one, twelve hours tops. How does a screw-up like that evade active pursuit for days?"

"By being too stupid to do anything of the things anyone else would do," said Tim, because it sounded better to put it on him and not on them. Might not have been fair to the guy, but it made him feel better about it. "It's the amateurs you always need to worry about. They don't do what they're supposed to do."

"Art's going to get us to drop it pretty soon," said Raylan. It wasn't just wishful thinking. Holden could only press his luck so far, and Clarence wasn't the only thing on their desks. "Too many resources and not enough results."

"I wasn't aware Art had a whole lot of influence on what you did or did not do."

"Suppose that's true enough. There are many ways in which you and I may be alike, but respect for authority is not one of them," said Raylan, raising a glass to him. The ice in it clinked. He was pretty sure Raylan hadn't ordered ice, but some places didn't know how to serve a decent drink. 

"One of many differences, lately," said Tim. Speaking of innuendo.

"Not to turn this into a _conversation_ or anything," said Raylan. "Just an observation."

"We are well over our yearly quota for conversation," said Tim, falling back into wary without revealing it in his posture. He was still an expert at that. "If you're trying to slip gracefully into suggesting that we have similar stories, let me save us both the time and agony and sum it up right now: everyone's life's shit in its own personal way."

"Good talk," said Raylan. "I'm glad we understand each other."

The thing was, they kind of did. Tim knew all the levels on which he and Raylan had had similar lives, similar influences; in fact, he knew far more of them than Raylan did. He also knew all the levels on which they'd gone in very different directions, with different results. Raylan didn't know half of what he thought he knew about Tim's life, especially if he was basing it on his own experience.

"Another round?" he said, because he might not've had much to say, but he was certainly on board with the drinking part of the evening.

"Sure, I'll go again," said Raylan.

It was possible they were going to regret this tomorrow. But Tim had a long way to go before he hit his tolerance level, and he suspected Raylan did too.

*

Rachel brought in Riley Bryant, a fugitive who fell just shy of the fifteen most wanted, before lunch. All Tim had done all morning was answer the phone.

"How the hell do you do it?" 

"I'm good at my job," she said, "and while you've been messing around up at Tramble, I was busy chasing down real tips."

"Unfair advantage," said Tim. "Holden Boyle doesn't have _you_ at his beck and call."

"Not my problem," said Rachel, "and it's not like anyone's keeping score. A win is a win for all of us."

"You _know_ Art's keeping score," said Tim. "I'm surprised he doesn't have a chalkboard up for everybody to see."

"He's not," said Rachel.

"But he does like you best."

"He doesn't need to keep score to do that," said Rachel, "he just has to pay attention."

"I'd feel better if I'd ever actually gotten something useful up there," he said. "I don't think I ever stood a chance. He wasn't interested in talking, and my skillset doesn't lie in interrogation."

"Maybe you should have brought a deck of cards with you, at least enjoyed the time you were killing."

"Don't think I didn't think about that," he said, "but I didn't want him to think I was enjoying even a minute of our visits."

"You do have a great cranky face."

"I ought to," said Tim. "I've been working on it for years." He practiced it even more as Raylan pushed through the double doors into the office and headed straight in their direction.

"There are way too many people in this town who are dead ringers for Clarence Boyle," he said in disgust.

"I got another one for you," said Tim, snatching a sticky note off his desk and adhering it to his finger, dangling it in front of Raylan. "Since I'm pretty sure he's not working the McDonald's drive through, though, I didn't put this one to the top of the pile."

"Still, ought to check them all out," said Rachel, not even trying not to smirk at him. "You never know."

"Goddamnit," said Raylan, without much feeling.

"We need to find a new angle on this one before it goes down in history as Raylan's greatest failure."

"Oh, I don't know," said Tim. "Raylan's had much bigger failures than this."

"Thank you, Tim," said Raylan wryly.

"What do you think?" said Rachel. "Has he fled the country by now?"

"I got an itch in my brain that tells me he hasn't," said Raylan.

"That's not a lot to go on," said Rachel. But Raylan did have good instincts about that kind of thing, most of the time. It was one of the reasons he got away with as much as he did. "You got any ideas where we should go next, then?"

Cases always belonged to all of them, but there really was a _we_ feeling about this one, a desire to close it before it threatened to hang over their heads mocking them forever.

"I don't know," said Raylan. "Maybe we should go all the way back. Talk to that hostess again, Crystal, see if she remembers anything else about that phone conversation, or anything before that."

It was only when he said it out loud like that that something clicked in Tim's head. "Goddamnit," he said, at the exact same time Rachel muttered, "Sonofabitch."

"Did I miss something?" said Raylan.

"We all did," said Rachel. " _Crystal_?"

"Yeah?"

Tim could see Raylan get the moment before after he said that, but the words were already on the tip of Tim's tongue. "That's what we call a sparkly gemstone name."

"Girl was sending us on a wild goose chase all along," said Rachel. "Do we have her address?"

"We do," said Tim, "and given the roundabout route we took to get here, I'm guessing that she thinks she's in the clear."

"She won't see us coming," said Raylan, grabbing his hat. "Are you with me?"

"Wouldn't miss this one for the world," said Rachel. 

Tim echoed the sentiment, if for different reasons. He had his own cross to bear on this case, and the more times he had to see Holden, the more he got under Tim's skin.

They sent some local PD over to the club, just to determine whether or not she was there, while the three of them went straight to her address of record. It was a little while house at the corner of the street, everything but the picket fence, completely innocuous. Tim took the back door without being told, and Rachel covered the street while Raylan went up and knocked on the door.

Clarence Boyle answered the god damn door himself. In his underwear.

He took one look at Raylan and took off through the house. Tim was ready at the back door but he didn't come out that way, instead dropping through a window and hopping the fence into the neighbor's yard before Tim could catch up with him. He really hadn't looked that fucking spry in his mugshots.

"I'm starting to have more sympathy for you losing him before," he said when Raylan was just within earshot, taking opposite sides of the next house over. Hopping fences was going to slow him down something fierce.

There was no movement for a few moments, and Tim was starting to wonder whether he'd gotten out into the next yard after all when there was a yowl from what he assumed—okay, hoped—was a cat, and Clarence came shooting out from under the deck with a tabby in hot pursuit. He had the back gate of the place covered; when Clarence saw him he turned tail and went up the side of the house back to the front yard but Rachel headed him off while Raylan covered the front.

"You want to keep running?" said Rachel. "Really? Because we can do this all day. Maybe it'll get even more interesting. Maybe the next people have a _dog_."

Sometimes—no, most of the time—Tim really fucking liked Rachel.

Clarence looked like he was really, genuinely, considering that option, even though the privacy fence was a good eight feet high, then finally sighed and leaned his back against it, three guns pointed at his head.

Rachel was kind enough to let Raylan make the arrest. Tim wouldn't have been.

*

It was a much less high profile case than a lot of what they did, and the truth was that most people in the office didn't give a particular fuck about it, but they still felt like the conquering heroes when the brought Clarence Boyle in. Now mind you, it was nothing like getting Drew Thompson—now that had been a _real_ building-wide celebration—but sometimes the personal victories were the sweetest.

"Well I'll be damned," said Art. "Just where did you finally dig _him_ out of?"

"From behind door number four," said Tim, "which had previously been hidden from the audience."

"They picked up our hostess as soon as we took Clarence into custody," said Raylan, hanging up his phone. "It's all over but the crying."

"I believe you mean the drinking," said Tim, "and the drinking is never over."

"You going to celebrate with—"

"How many times I gotta tell you I don't have a—"

"Us?" said Raylan.

"Oh," said Tim. Well, that was what he got for jumping to conclusions.

"Or would you rather take off and see your sweetheart?"

"Damn it, Raylan, do you really need to ruin a perfectly good moment?" said Tim. "I was basking in this."

"Tim has a sweetheart?" said Rachel. "This is the first I'm hearing of this."

"I don't," said Tim. "Which is why it's also the last you'll be hearing about it. Raylan has a vivid imagination."

"That's too bad," said Rachel. "They don't know what they're missing out on."

Tim didn't miss the use of the gender neutral pronoun, but when he glared at Raylan he just shrugged his shoulders and looked genuinely like he didn't have any idea where she got that from. Maybe the guards up at Tramble were gossiping after all. Maybe she was just good at what she did.

God knew Tim'd used his skills to try to figure Raylan out more than once.

He didn't wish he had a boyfriend, exactly, but in that moment he did kind of wish he had _someone_ to go to, to brag about their bust and maybe fuck afterwards. It might've been nice to have that. But he didn't need it, not by a long shot.

"Don't you dare question him without me," he said to Raylan, who'd left Clarence under guard while he got his shit together. "I've earned this too."

"All right," said Raylan. "I guess you've earned _something_."

Tim wanted in too much to so much as make a smartass comment to that.

*

Tim could very nearly be called cheerful when he headed up to Tramble, a special request that Art felt inclined to grant him, but whether he knew what Tim was going for or he was just trying to say job well done with something other than a glass of top shelf bourbon, Tim couldn't say. All he knew was he was getting what he wanted this morning, no more, no less.

"Now why do you look so down today?" said Holden when Tim joined him in the cinder block room, sitting down and folding his hands in front of him. "Are you getting tired of my company?"

"This?" said Tim. "This is my happy face."

"I'm worried I've been a disappointment to you," said Holden. "You and I clearly wanted very different things from our relationship."

"You're right," said Tim, nodding his head like Holden had said something very sensible. "I think I'm going to have to break up with you, Mr. Boyle."

"Oh, I don't think you want to do that," said Holden. "I'm sure we can work out our differences eventually."

"Sorry," said Tim, "but I'm just not feeling it. You see, the thing you never seemed to think about while you were playing coy and waiting for your brother to find a way to get you out of here, is that we might catch him. Or if you were prepared for us to catch him, then you never realized that _we only need one of you_. Clarence is talking, Holden, and you and I are done."

And with that Tim got up from his chair. Still not smiling, but surely looking at least a little bit more satisfied than when he'd gone in.

"Wait."

"For what?" said Tim.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Tim shrugged. "That's not my problem," he said. "You're someone else's problem now. Get a good look, because this is the last you're ever going to see of me."

"I know things that Clarence doesn't know."

"Again," said Tim, "not my problem."

"I won't give them to anyone but you."

"Yes," said Tim, "you will. Because you don't have any leverage anymore, Holden. If you want any kind of deal, you'll give up what you know. And if you don't...you don't. I'm sure what they get from Clarence will be more than enough to start the chain reaction."

"I don't deserve to be here, you know."

"Yeah you do," said Tim. "And you're going to have a good long time to think about why."

He didn't wait for an answer this time, because he wasn't bluffing. Holden Boyle was someone else's problem now, and other than asking to be the one to break the news to him, Tim thought he handled the whole experience with tact and class.

Maybe he was growing as a person.

But probably not.

*

Clarence Boyle gave them everything, selling out his brother along with the rest. Kin didn't mean anything to some people, but Tim couldn't fault him for that. Family didn't have a whole lot of meaning to him either. They were going to have to give the asshole protection for it, though, which Tim was glad to have nothing to do with. He had a lot of respect for the guts it took for some witnesses to come forward, but WitSec was a detail he never wanted on.

"Congratulations," said Art, clasping him on the shoulder like the proud father Tim never had. "What are you going to do to celebrate?"

"Well," said Tim, and thought about the bottle he had under the sink.

"No, don't tell me, I probably don't want to know," said Art. "Just do something good to yourself, Tim. You've earned it."

"I always earn it," said Tim. "It's all just another day on the job."

"Still," said Art. "Be _good_ to yourself for once, Gutterson."

Tim just grinned at him. "What makes you think I'm not always good to myself?" he said.

"Cause I've _met_ you," said Art. "You did a good job on this one. You all did a good, clean job."

"You giving this same speech to Rachel and Raylan then?"

"Rachel doesn't need it," said Art, "and Raylan won't listen. You're my last hope."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?" said Tim. "Maybe I'll order some takeout from that place I like."

"Maybe you could even go out," said Art. "Just a thought."

"I go out plenty, you know," said Tim, before Art could make a tactical retreat. Poor guy, no one in his office knew how the hell to take a compliment. But if Tim was being good to himself tonight, then maybe going out wasn't the answer he was looking for. Not that that wouldn't have been _very good_ to him. But maybe he needed to try something new.

"Do you?"

"I have no idea why everyone in this office is interested in my life all of a sudden," he said.

From the calculating look on Art's face, he'd overreacted to a bit of paternal pride and concern, but everyone had their breaking point and it seemed like Tim's was nearer to the surface on this than on most other things.

"Well, whatever you do with it, enjoy the night," Art said finally. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Art," said Tim.

Now that he was sitting with it, now that he was facing its imminent arrival, he realized that he really did have absolutely no plans for tonight. Other than to go home and drink, just like every other night. It was not a terrible plan but, just like earlier with Rachel, he found himself wanting something more.

It wasn't because of Raylan, trying to push Tim towards a life that suited _Raylan_ more than it suited him. And it wasn't Holden, showing Tim exactly what he wanted to never become. He wasn't so blind he didn't know both of those things had some kind of influence, but ultimately what he was feeling was all him. What he wanted was all him.

What he was going to do with it was all him, too.

Tim took the business card out of his pocket and turned it over a few times between his fingers, slightly worn at the edges from him unconsciously handling it over the past couple of days. Telling Tim to look him up some time would have been a courtesy goodbye, but giving him the means to do so meant that he _meant_ it.

It wasn't that Tim never thought about trying a relationship. Of course he thought about it. But all he had to do was think about all of the spectacularly failed relationships in his family and among his coworkers to dismiss the option again. And that was before factoring in that dating men as a U.S. Marshal in Kentucky was a dicey proposition at best. Even sleeping with them on the sly was a calculated risk.

But Tim was getting older. Not _old_ , just older. He didn't have a whole lot of old friends to watch settle down or any shit like that, but you started to think about what your future was going to look like. He hadn't always been sure he was going to have one.

If he was smart, he'd find someone outside of Kentucky, try it long distance. But you didn't get to choose who your dick pointed at, and he wasn't going to be the queer Raylan Givens about it but you wanted what you wanted.

He didn't have to make any promises. It was just a phone call. He'd probably fuck it all up and that was all right. Most people didn't get it right on the first try.

But sometimes they did, and Tim thought maybe Scott was worth the shot.

So he sucked it up and pulled out his phone and dialed.


End file.
